


to lean, to rest, to trust

by sa00harine



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Adopted Abigail Hobbs, Family Dynamics, Fluff, Hannibal Lecter Loves Will Graham, Happy, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-04
Updated: 2021-01-04
Packaged: 2021-03-14 10:34:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28544136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sa00harine/pseuds/sa00harine
Summary: Set mid-season 1, featuring Murder Family without the murder and Hannibal getting Abigail a kitten
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 10
Kudos: 61





	to lean, to rest, to trust

**Author's Note:**

> HEYY i wrote this in 2 days on very little sleep please go easy on me if it isn't perfect all I wanted was Hannibal and Abigail with a kitten

Abigail waits expectantly for Hannibal to arrive home. They’d had a deal. She was to be released from the psychiatric facility- which she kept climbing the walls to get out of anyways- into Hannibal’s custody, and to fill the outrageously large and remarkably empty house, they’d be getting a pet. 

When they’d talked on the drive from Port Haven, Hannibal had expressed objections to dogs- he enjoyed them, but they tended to be noisy and dirty, plus Will’s pack frequently reappearing in his life was more than enough. He’d also drawn the line at birds and rodents. Abigail could see clearly a reptile of sorts- regal bearded dragon or snake. She’d been about to suggest that very thought when a memory strikes. 

Marissa Schurr had a cat- a grey tabby with white paws, that on the occasion Abigail would come over, she’d held an affection for. His name was Charms. Marissa had gotten him when she was nine. The cat had been ten now, of old age but no less friendly. Just a couple of months ago she’d come over to study with him in her lap and Marissa rolling her eyes. Abigail had looked down at her hands, heart heavy with the empty shape of her friend and trying not to think about Charms being taken back to a shelter for the last few years of his life. Her parents would probably keep him, she thought, but he wasn’t theirs. He was Marissa’s. And she was gone. 

She wasn’t allowed pets. Her father had instead illustrated the apparent wonder of hunting- what better than bringing in the beauty of animals? Their hides, their bones, the meat. It served use whereas a pet wouldn’t. 

At this point, Hannibal had looked over. “It isn’t my refusal of adopting dogs that has you silent, Abigail,” he states as his eyes swipe back to the road in front of them. “You’ve remembered something. Care to tell me?” 

“You’re not my psychiatrist.” 

“No,” he says, unperturbed by her defenses. “I’m your guardian. One would argue that is just as worthy, if not more, to confide in. I happen to also have the repertoire of knowledge a psychiatrist carries.” 

Unlike Alana, he didn’t view her as fragile, a vase once shattered and only held together with bits of glue. Hannibal, she believed, saw her as an equal of sorts. She wasn’t sure why or how, but she would learn. She wasn’t intuitive for nothing. 

“Marissa Schurr- my friend- the one who we found um-” Abigail swallows, shutting her eyes for a brief moment. She could still see it. “-In the cabin,” she clarifies. “She had a cat before she died, is all. I was thinking about him.” 

Hannibal’s face is one of neutrality. She liked how it didn’t give way to immediate concern the way Alana’s did or even sometimes, Will’s. “I expect despite her absence her parents are taking care of him? The death of a caretaker can be devastating to the best of us, even animals. Their depth of emotion is a surprise to most.” 

She nods. “I’m sure he’s fine.” Abigail gazes out the window, between regretting and embracing the sliver of vulnerability. 

“A cat,” she decides as they pull up to Hannibal’s. 

He pauses, hand around the handle of his door on his way to get out. “Do you have a preference?” 

Abigail considers that. “I don’t but I know you do.” 

Hannibal raises an eyebrow. “Do I?” 

“Nothing with too much fur. It would shed everywhere. Clothes, furniture, and all.” 

“Perhaps,” he replies with something not far away from a smile. 

He gets out and she follows suit, grabbing her bag- mainly gifts graciously donated by Alana that consisted of clothes, novels, and a stack of gift cards Abigail had yet to go through. All of her previous belongings were now evidence as it was. 

It had all led up to the opening of the door and the unmistakable sound of a key turning inside a lock. Abigail perks up, eyes unfocusing from the page of a book she hadn’t been entirely focused on anyway, tracking the doorway in anticipation for Hannibal to appear. 

He does, and in his arms is a dusty pink, almost grey lump. Abigail rises. Her book stays abandoned on the table as Hannibal approaches her.

“A hairless sphynx,” he supplies when she’d squinted at the baldness of the kitten. “A local breeder I got in touch with had a recent litter. She was the last of her siblings. Her name is Calpurnia.” 

Abigail dares to reach out a hand and gently trail her knuckles along the kitten’s spine. With a clipped purr, Calpurnia stretches and peers up at Abigail with large, dark eyes. Hannibal tilts his arm, offering the kitten to Abigail. 

“Take her. I will make us dinner.” 

She scoops up Calpurnia, barely the size of both of her hands. Stunned with the animal and Hannibal’s nonchalance towards it, she stands motionless until she follows him into the kitchen. Calpurnia leans into her sweater and her heart skips. She was so small, immensely trusting. Similar to what Abigail felt for the surviving deer in the distance by the hunting cabin, she thumbs the space between Calpurnia’s ears with a possessive streak growing for the animal. 

Hannibal’s back is turned to her as she lays an assortment of platters on the counter, gathering containers of spices and then some kind of meat wrapped up. Abigail sits in the chair in the corner. 

“What’re you making?”

He doesn’t look up. “Heart.” 

She blinks. “From what?” 

“Venison,” says Hannibal, finishing rinsing the muscle and then already starting to slice it. Abigail follows the knife as it purges of the connective tissue, valves, and hard fat. At last the rest is discarded and edible slices are made. He cuts precisely. Steady hands, she remembers. He had been a surgeon. 

Abigail straightens with a swallow. “Deer, then,” she says. “Do you hunt?” 

The knife surpasses the meat, and the meat falls onto the board. “I did,” Hannibal answers. “This, however, was from a butcher,” He waits before he continues. “As a boy, I hunted often. I quite enjoyed it for some time.”

“For your family?” 

“For my sister.” 

Calpurnia stirrs. Abigail smiles softly down at the sphynx and at first, hesitant because of the lack of fur and unfamiliarly of bare skin, pets her steadily until her eyes close. Her absent purrs fill the conversation. 

“You have a sister?” She asks. 

Hannibal wasn’t one to display weakness with any ease nor to anyone but himself, but Abigail detects a slight wince. She attributes it to the knife skirting too close to a finger for his liking until he provides an answer. 

He looks at her, maybe through her. It’s flaying, the way his eyes can cut and dissect as if she were the heart on the cutting board, the meat under the knife. “Had,” he corrects gently. “She died when I was eleven.” 

“What was her name?” 

The last slice falls. Hannibal accounts for parsley, garlic, black pepper, and sea salt before he acknowledges her question. “Misha,” he tells her at last. 

Abigail doesn’t burden him with pity the same way he hasn’t done to her. She loosens her scarf and drapes the hanging fabric over Calpurnia. She’s reluctant to put the feline down, to be honest with herself. It feels like she’ll lose it the second she crawls out of sight. That trend seemed to haunt her starting with her mother and father leaving the kitchen that fateful morning. He’d come back bloody. She hadn’t come back at all. There wasn’t even chalk or tape in the outline of a body. Dead. Marissa once waving goodbye next mounted on antlers like hooks. Nick Boyle vanishing into the trees next under the ground, to be frozen until the evidence of her knife and fingerprints disappeared too. 

“Abigail.” 

Hannibal’s voice summons her from her suffocating reverie. Still stationed at the counter, he watches her. “I left the necessities for Calpurnia by the door. If you wouldn’t mind, I’d appreciate it if you moved them out of the way and then fed her before coming back to me to welcome our guest.” 

She had already headed for the doorway. The mention of company stops her in her tracks. “Who?” 

“Will.”

The wariness fades almost completely. Abigail clutches Calpurnia as she gives a small stretch and then makes to leave. 

“You remind me of her,” Hannibal says as she steps away. “Misha.” 

The ‘necessities’ as said by Hannibal for Calpurnia were aligned by the door. He’d dropped them before going to meet Abigail. She didn’t know why that made her feel nervous- to be making a shape in the life of somebody else. A father. And forbid, for him to be molding her life to fit his own. She hoped fiercely that taking a new father would not end as the first one did- with blood and scarves covering red and angry scar tissue and cold kitchen floors. 

A variety of cat toys that looked humorously out of place next to the dark, otherwise slightly macabre decor. A machine bearing some resemblance to a litter box- the same function, but this one being automatic and requiring less work on their part. What coerces a laugh from Abigail though, is the lavish cat bed complete with silky cushions. A pale imitation of a fancy chaise lounge down ten sizes. She stifles a giggle with her sleeve and then deposits Calpurnia there with a snort. One by one, she makes swift work moving everything to where she’d been sleeping the past week. Her room, Hannibal referred to it as. Not that it didn’t feel like home, or someplace that could be such, but it felt too temporary to call a home- the noun rooted in grounding and finality and security. Alana had once told her that the feeling of  _ waiting  _ for whatever misfortune would turn her world upside down next was a plague that would be slow to leave, only natural to adopt after experiencing multiple traumatic events in quick succession. Clearing her head, Abigail takes a seat on the bed for a second. The sheets are much softer than anything she’d ever been acquainted with. She’d learned rather quickly that whether it be the papery sheets from Port Haven or the undoubtedly expensive blankets and mattress here, nightmares would pursue regardless. She spares a glance at Calpurnia. At least she wasn’t alone anymore. 

Calpurnia blinks and Abigail blinks back. She cracks open the can and grabs a bowl that Hannibal had bought- nothing short of authentic porcelain. It takes some light coaxing, but Calpurnia inches forward and hesitantly licks at the offering. Abigail watches, the idleness of the kitten having an otherwise calming effect. 

She’s only disrupted by Hannibal passing by and knocking on the door with a knuckle before he pokes his head in. “Dinner will be ready,” he informs, walking in once she didn’t stop him. It was a relief, to know he respected her boundaries. One of the changes among many. Unlike the others, it was actually welcome. “How is she getting acquainted?” 

Abigail shrugs. “I got her to eat, now she’s-” 

Apparently taking a dislike to being spoken over, Calpurnia yawns and a small chirp-like noise comes from her. Abigail bites her lip to evade a wide smile and Hannibal softens. His serene expression is only broken by Calpurnia nibbling at her food. 

“I bought enough for her transition between this old food her previous owner gave to her, but when the time comes we can make meals for her from scratch,” Hannibal says. 

“Will does that,” Abigail remembers. They’d made brief conversation about his dogs once at the psychiatric facility when she needed a distraction. “He makes his dogs meals.” 

Hannibal nods. “We would be wise to ask him about it. It’s been long since I’ve had any pets around.” 

She quirks a brow. “How long?” 

He eyes Calpurnia as she ambles across the floor towards his shoe. “Two decades,” Hannibal answers. “Last was when I lived in Florence as a young man, my neighbor passed and I took up feeding his dog. Before that, before Misha’s death, my family owned horses, one of which was my own, and a sum of dogs.” 

“Did the horse have a name?” 

“Yes. Caesar.” 

Abigail realizes. “Caesar and Calpurnia,” she comments. 

In an unusual humorous manner, Hannibal cocks his head. “Do you notice a trend?” 

“Is the next one Brutus? Portia?” 

He crouches and picks up Calpurnia, who goes without objection, burrowing in the creases of his shirt where he’d removed his suit jacket to cook. “You’ll have to see.”

The doorbell rings and they both get a move on. 

  
  


Will’s dressed in more than an army jacket and a flannel with the slight traces of trepidation in the lack of eye contact and downward set of his lips. Hannibal had transferred Calpurnia to Abigail to retrieve the door, and she was holding the kitten in her arms, almost entirely disguised save for the peaks of her ears. 

Hannibal steps aside. “Hello, please come in.” 

Will walks in. “You’re speaking like this is an appointment.” 

“Familiarity is often grounding.” 

“I don’t go to many dinners,” Will says, offering Abigail a polite smile. He hasn’t noticed yet. “No matter what grounding you attempt, it will be at a loss.” 

“He made us heart,” she tells him as Hannibal walks ahead to prepare their plates, no stranger to the underlying tension in each and every one of their interactions. 

Will huffs. “Am I supposed to feel romanced?” He asks as he takes a seat at the table. She sits across from him, leaving the head of the table to Hannibal. Will had asked the question with so much sarcasm she was unsure if it was in any way genuine. And unsure of how much power she wanted over the blooming relationship. If they were to be her guardians, a fair amount. 

“Maybe,” she elects to say. 

Will opens his mouth to speak again, appearing puzzled, when a soft purr emits from Abigail’s crossed arms. It visually plays across his face, the occurring thought of why she’d been holding herself with her arms poised in such a manner all through their conversation. His eyes widen. “Are you-?” Will asks, one hand absently going to his glasses as if to take them off and test what he was seeing. “Is that-?” 

She drops an arm, grinning. 

“Oh.” Will’s face lights up, falling between surprise and happiness like she’d never seen before. She thought she’d looked similar when Hannibal first showed her Calpurnia. 

“Did you sneak it in here? I doubt Hannibal would be thrilled if you-” 

“-I purchased her,” Hannibal says, entering with drinks to place for all of them. 

Will makes a face that Abigail has to look away from in order not to laugh. “You-?” 

Hannibal seems appropriately amused. “I did grow up with many animals around me, Will. And Calpurnia is a hairless sphynx. There is no mess to be cautious of, unlike with your pack.” 

“They’re well-trained,” he argues, no venom to his voice. He stares at the shifting wrinkly animal she’s holding. “I had a cat once, a stray I insisted on feeding although we never had scraps. I had to sneak him food off my plate as a kid,” he says, unexpectedly relaxed, a change from how he had been just minutes ago. “Name was Mittens. Not Calpurnia. I know you picked that out,” he accuses, turning to Hannibal as the other sets down a plate with a tantalizing smell. “Calpurnia? Really?” 

“One of your dogs responds to ‘Stop It,’” Hannibal points out. 

“Yeah. I told him to stop it so many times it’s his name.” 

Abigail laughs, startling Calpurnia. The kitten scrambles from her arms and leaps onto the table. In perfect sync, Will and Abigail’s eyes go to Hannibal. He looks ready to burst a blood vessel, but not in any way he couldn’t mask over within seconds. The only lasting indicator was his slow, disbelieving blink. 

Will leans across the table, clicking his tongue. “Hey, Cal. C’mere,” he encourages. 

Calpurnia scampers into his outstretched arms and he instantly cradles her, only a little put off by the difference of a bald kitten from a fluffy dog. “Hi there,” Will says softly, tilting his head. She mews in reply and he smiles, toothy and unguarded. 

Abigail turns in her seat to catch Hannibal, gazing at Will with something heavy Abigail thought may have been love, or that could and would evolve into love. “Abigail suggested company to fill the halls when she regarded them as empty and daunting. Her first request was a dog, and I told her you have more than enough. Second was Calpurnia.” 

“Got seven,” Will tells her. “All strays. People tend to drop ‘em off in the middle of nowhere and coincidentally, that’s just where I live to take them in.” 

“They’re lucky,” Abigail says. She wonders if she’s become one. One of Will’s strays, one of Hannibal’s newest artifacts. It’s better than abuse. Better than fitting the role of a shiny lure. 

He beams. “I’m the lucky one, they keep me sane,” Will admits. He murmurs a thanks as Hannibal sets down their plates. 

“My pleasure. Put down the cat,” he says in lieu of a reply. Will looks put on the spot, casting a glance at Calpurnia in his lap before giving a small  _ tsk.  _ Abigail’s eyes follow her as she obeys and leaps off, not getting far out of the room before she curls up and is lost in an animal fur rug. 

They eat in peace until Will clears his throat. A strange development- watching him step out of the weary and worn unsociable attitude that clung to him at work and cumulated in a gloom that trailed with him when he paid visits to Abigail. “Capurnia should meet the pack. Winston, Zoe, Harley, Jack, and Ellie would be gentle with her I think. Buster and Stop-it, we’d have to worry about.” 

“His name is really Stop-It?” Abigail asks. She hadn’t planned on speaking over dinner. Not because she didn’t want to for any reason, but the sheer delight of food that wasn’t the same alternating meals at Port Haven Psychiatric Facility had consumed the majority of her attention. 

Will feels similarly if the way he savors his food between bites and stares at his plate says anything. “His name was supposed to be Max, but he jumps up on the bed and on  _ me  _ enough when he isn’t trying to stick his nose in corners he shouldn’t that he’s more used to that phrase. It stuck after a while. He’s good though. I don’t regret rescuing him. He was starving on the side of the road.” 

“He is truly fortunate that he has your faith despite his shortcomings,” Hannibal remarks. “I know which one he is. On the couple occasions you asked me to feed them, he had enough energy for the whole pack. As well as enough hair to shed.” 

“We don’t have that problem,” Abigail reminds Hannibal. 

“No,” he says, watching Will eat with a pleased expression. “We don’t. But her condition does mean she’s more vulnerable to temperature changes and prone to infection. After dinner, we can make the drive to Wolftrap. But she will not wander outside in the snow.” 

Across the table from one another, Will and Abigail share a gleeful look. Hannibal catches it but pretends not to as he guides his eyes to his plate. The twin expressions- the man he so admired and wished to know in more ways than one, and then the surrogate daughter- on their faces make each instance worth it. 

  
  


The drive goes by in less time than they would have guessed. They didn’t share much overlap in terms of music taste, so they drove in silence. Abigail was perfectly content staring through the windows and watching the moon keep their pace. 

Will drove ahead, leading the way while Hannibal kept pursuit. 

In her lap, bundled in a blanket stolen from her bed, Calpurnia was perched. She stared at Abigail some and then out the windows. Abigail fought the urge to hold her up as if she would see anything that would change her small existence. 

When they do pull up, Will has already arrived and opened the door. The dogs spill out with bursts of energy they use to sprint around the grounds, chasing their own tails and each other. Abigail gets out as soon as Hannibal parks, one arm strong around Calpurnia and the other in front of her to familiarize herself with the dogs before letting them near the blanket. 

One out of the bunch trots over, dark fur and beady, attentive eyes. His bushy tail wags as he slows to a stop by her feet to sniff her hand. 

“Hi,” Abigail says quietly, scratching him between the ears. 

Hannibal had beelined to Will, and the man in question stood with a couple of dogs by his feet that had already tired of running. He watches Abigail. The fatherly look about him frightens her as much as it wants to comfort her. She shakes her head with a quick inward scold at herself. She was tired of being so afraid. She’d  _ survived.  _ Part of her lay dead on the kitchen floor, but it wasn’t enough to hold her back. 

“That’s Winston with you,” Will calls. “He’s friendly. Stop-It and Ellie are with me.” He blinks, standing straight instead of leaning on the house. “Buster! Hey, here!” 

  
  


They all head inside when it turns out to be chilly and Abigail can feel Calpurnia shifting to find more warmth in her blanket. When she sits on the couch, the dogs crowd by her in a semi-circle while Will makes coffee for Hannibal. For the drive home, he’d said. 

Abigail spends time putting each name to each dog and then whispering softly to each of them. Her favorite is Jack, a mutt with obvious traces of Border Collie. He was as calm as he was agile and in some ways, reminded her of the wildlife she’d grown up wishing to have mercy on. She eventually pulls back the corner of the blanket and without any delay, Calpurnia’s head pops up. Buster yips. Will shouts something unintelligible from the kitchen and after a moment of staring, Buster sits back and doesn’t bark again. Trained, Will had said. Abigail smiles to herself. Calpurnia emerges entirely and blinks at the dogs as they lean up to sniff. Harley tries to lick her but she rears back with a hiss and a paw batting him away. Abigail raises an eyebrow when all the dogs noticeably lessen their exploration.

A small degree of nerves stay with her as Calpurnia crawls off the couch and pads along the floor, keeping the dogs at a distance with minute hisses when they get too close. 

Abigail has settled into the couch, entertained by watching them all sniff and interact amongst each other, by the time Calpurnia has eased with the dogs. She sticks close to Stop-It, of all the animals, mewing whenever he tried to leave the circle and dig into Will’s desk. 

Will and Hannibal come in from the kitchen, Hannibal nursing a travel mug and Will with two normal ones. He hands one to Abigail and answers her question before she asks it. “Hot chocolate.”

“Thanks,” she says, taking a sip. 

Hannibal lowers himself into one of the chairs while Will takes the other end of the couch. “Where has Calpurnia gone?” He asks, a more engaged tone to his voice than he would freely admit. 

Abigail nods her head and Will’s consecutive coo indicates the vision in front of them. The dogs curled up in their beds, and Calpurnia burrowed beside Stop-It, asleep against the curve of the dog’s stomach. 

“Oh hell,” says Will, shaking his head. “She fits right in.” 

“Dangerous,” Hannibal replies. “Companionship.” 

Will looks at him and then to Abigail, all in warm color beside the fire. “Some risks are worth taking.” 

She swallows her drink and a bolt of fear at the unspoken. She’d have to be oblivious to not understand that they’re alluding to her being something of a daughter to them. She watches Calpurnia’s flank rise and fall and syncs her own breathing with it too. Had Will or Hannibal done that stationed at her bedside while she was in a coma? Was Calpurnia a surrogate for the stability Abigail used to think she knew? Caring for something could be caring for yourself by proxy, demonstrating the ability and intent. Abigail would spend her mental convalescence nurturing an animal in place of all the ones she’d been forced to kill. Will could heal from the impact of taking a life by nurturing one- hers. “Getting a cat,” she lists off. “Allowing people into your life and trusting them to be careful with your life.” 

“We always will be,” promises Hannibal. 

Will nods. “You deserve a shot at the life you deserve. We will work to get you that if you want us to, Abigail.” 

Her eyes burn a little and she blinks and takes a hasty gulp of hot chocolate. No reply in her arsenal she’d been allotting to the dozens of doctors, nurses, and psychiatrists in the past while seemed enough to give back to him so she didn’t. Will respects that, not pressing any further. 

Calpurnia rouses and licks at Stop-It’s fur a few times before weaving through the dog beds, waking none of them on her way to crawl up Hannibal’s pant leg. Only when she’s nestled in his hand and the side of the chair does Buster care to join. She promptly hisses and he sits by the chair, subdued. 

“Atta girl,” Hannibal appraises with a smile down at the cat. She presses her forehead into his hand. 

Will snorts. “And to think I was worried about her.” 

“She’ll find her own way. She’s resilient,” Hannibal says, as close to affectionate as he could manage. Calpurnia purrs indulgently and with the fire and scratch of dog’s paws on wood, it creates music they could all happily stand. 

Abigail didn’t disagree. She had the sense to know it wasn’t only Calpurnia he was talking about. 

“Hey,” Will says suddenly, breaking the harmonious atmosphere. 

Hannibal is still. “Yes?” 

“Did you mean to name her Calpurnia?” 

“Yes. You’re implying it could have been a mistake?”

Will reaches down to pet Winston, whose head was on his thigh. “No. I just want to know if you thought of the pun Cal- _ purr- _ nia before or after you went with the name.” 

Abigail laughs and after absorbing the flat stare Hannibal gives them, Will joins in too. 

Not priding them with a response, Hannibal watches them as dignified as he can with a small, wrinkly kitten shifting on his lap. 

**Author's Note:**

> :)) kudos and comments r appreciated but otherwise I do hope you liked it!


End file.
